216 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



of fresh meat for supper, when my eye was caught by 

 a patch of gray on a bare hillside opposite, right on 

 our path, and some 300 yards away. I put the glass 

 on. Yes, it was a buck lying down and looking at us. 

 We were riding through a hollow, and partially con- 

 cealed by trees. My companion, a western hunter, 

 would at first hardly believe it, until I gave him the 

 glass. ; Yes, that's a travellin' buck takin' a rest ; 

 and a good un he is, too/ By that time I was off my 

 horse and seated on the ground, an elbow on each 

 knee, and had drawn a full bead on the top of his 

 shoulder. ' How far, Jack ?' I whispered. ' Over 

 300 yards/ was the reply. 



The first barrel cracked, and a puff of dust flew up 

 a foot below the gray body. Quick as thought, as 

 the buck was rising, the sight was raised a hair's- 

 breadth and the second trigger pressed. 4 That 

 fetched him,' said my companion as the head fell 

 prone. A lucky shot, this time a shade too high, had 

 severed the spine. The body of that buck was 

 brought in whole on one of our horses, to delight the 

 eyes and other bodily organs of a hungry camp. 



I have occasionally tried, with success, riding in line 

 with another rifle 200 yards apart and a man between, 

 through likely-looking deer-ground. The deer ring, 

 and, when started by one of the line, often run 

 straight into the arms of another rider. The idea of 

 a line of riflemen is not contained in their philosophy. 

 The most artful buck has never calculated on this 

 contingency, and does not understand or provide 

 against it. 



Returning again to my narrative of the hunting 

 trip of 1878, it was now the month of October, and 

 the weather was cold. We wanted one or two good 



